Words in Silence
by Darkmoonphase
Summary: How Sherlock had to come back after two years of being gone and adjust to a family life. And his son is terribly like him. [Johnlock] Gift story.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or characters thereof. I do not own the idea of modernized Sherlock either.**

Sherlock wasn't sure when it had happened. _How_ it happened was an even worse train of thought to consider. There was so much that had happened between them. When had the dynamics changed between them? But things had and they were amazingly wonderful. He couldn't imagine anything better. He would never admit it to John but he was never truly bored anymore now that he had the blonde around. He was always watching the other, trying to understand him and figure out how to make him happy.

So it was a very strange day when nothing he could understand helped John out of his gloomy state. And, what was worse, was that John carried this gloom with him for weeks and weeks at a time.

John hadn't told him yet. And he wasn't sure he was going to. Because he _liked_ what he had with Sherlock. Granted, it was a very precarious balance but that's why he wasn't saying anything. His only nightmares now were of Sherlock finding out. Because, if nothing else, Sherlock was _not_ stupid. Eventually, he could - and probably _would_ - figure it out. Until then, John was fine to pretend. Pretend that he wasn't pregnant. Pretend that Sherlock wouldn't figure it out. Pretend that he wasn't horrifically terrified.

And it seemed to work for awhile. Until he started showing through his jumpers. Sherlock made about two deductions and came to the conclusion terribly fast. His only saving grace was that the first question out of Sherlock's mouth was simply, "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" The downside was that he was obviously upset by this. For a whole day, Sherlock made John's life miserable by not talking to him or even acknowledging him. That night, as they lay in bed together, John turned to his significant other and simply said, "I'm sorry. I was scared." There was nothing Sherlock could say to that and so he just held the blonde until they fell asleep.

Sherlock found that the gloom had somehow spread to him as well.

It was crazy how things shifted after that. If Sherlock hadn't been concerned over John's safety and wellbeing, he was then. He was fussy over small things and started hiding big things. John assumed that's how they ended up at the hospital, Sherlock on the roof while John clung to his phone. Molly later said that she was shocked that neither John nor his baby were hurt with everything that happened after Sherlock jumped.

Sherlock wished that he had been able to actually explain to John why he had had to go.

Three months after his significant other's death, John had Hamish Sherlock Holmes-Watson. Sherlock had mocked John in saying that they were going to name their son by his middle name but it was the only one that had really stuck. The middle name was a given. At first sight of his little baby, John had broken down into tears, holding his Hamish close. For a split second, he literally thought about giving him away, letting someone else take care of him. And then he just held him and cried and couldn't imagine ever letting him go. Because, if nothing else, his baby was part of Sherlock and that was amazing.

For six months of Hamish's life, they lived in 221 B Baker Street. John was pretending again. He was pretending that he was all there. Pretending that Sherlock would come back. Pretending that he wasn't holding onto the flat because of the ludicrous idea that his lover was still alive. And he pretended until Greg knocked on his door one day and asked to come inside. John hadn't bothered to change out of his sweats and oversized jumper yet and so he was a bit embarrassed. Hamish was attempting to crawl again, from beside the coffee table toward the couch. He was also still in his pajamas. John winced slightly as he looked around the flat. It looked a bit too messy for him and he hoped to God that Greg wouldn't mention the state of it.

For a moment, the DI just looked around. Then he walked over to Hamish, scooped him up, and looked over at John. "This place is no good for you now, John. You need a bigger place for Hamish." What he meant was, "You need to move on now."

It stung a bit but he started looking for somewhere else to move. Greg was over a lot after that, helping him pack and pick out places to look and kept an eye on Hamish. A month later, he had moved out of 221 B Baker Street and into a bigger flat outside of London. John tackled two jobs for the first year of Hamish's life and then settled back down to one so he could spend time with his son. And Hamish seemed to grow too fast. Time blended and blurred and John treasured as many moments with him as he could. Before he knew it, Hamish was almost two years old. His baby was going to daycare and making friends and he was John's whole world.

It was three months before Hamish's second birthday when John got the shock of his life. _Sherlock_ waltzed back into his life.

After two years - two years of watching and listening and hiding behind the scenes - Sherlock could no longer stay away. He missed touching John and he wanted to meet his son for real. He was tired of pretending and hiding and generally not being there for his family. So he stepped up to the front door of his boyfriend's flat and knocked.

It was a foggy morning and John was up with Hamish, getting him ready for daycare, when there was a sharp knock on the front door. He sighed and mumbled, "No one should be here this early. This is too bloody early." Hamish grinned and said something that sounded like, "Too body early." John patted his head and left him to figure out his socks while he answered the door. He paused, staring at the pale face with the mop of dark curls in front of him. "Sherlock…?" he croaked weakly, about twenty million emotions running through his being. Rationally, the first thing he did when he gathered even a small semblance of his mind back, was to punch him square in the nose.

Needless to say, Hamish did not go to school that day.

John and Sherlock sat down on the loveseat and watched Hamish draw at the coffee table. For several minutes, they said nothing. They just sat in silence. There was too much in each of their heads to voice anything. Finally, John managed to whisper, "Please, just…. Tell me why…"

Sherlock turned his head to look at him very calmly stated, "It had to be done. To keep you and Molly and DI Lestrade and little Hamish here safe. If I had lived, none of you would be alive. I had to die but… I couldn't keep away…"

Slowly, John shifted to face him better and plastered the most neutral expression he could on his face. "You have been gone for two years, Sherlock. I have been virtually alone for _two years_. Couldn't you have stopped in once or twice and said hello? You couldn't have let me know that you were really alive? I have been trying to cope and deal with your absence for this entire time, Sherlock. And it's been hard. Trying to raise Hamish alone while I grieved…" His voice caught and he let out a soft choking noise. "Greg had to practically move me out of the flat on Baker Street…" His eyes took on a distant gleam. "I could have lost him…"

Sherlock pursed his lips, trying his hardest to hold back his emotions. "Thank-you," he murmured, taking John's hand hesitantly. He was met with a sharp squeeze to his own hand. "Thank-you for not giving up. I needed something to come back to and I'm glad that I could come back to you…" Silence enveloped them for a moment before Hamish got up and took his picture to John who praised his son and Sherlock watched them softly. He had missed so much and Hamish did not know who he was beyond the fact that John trusted him. For a full minute, he regretted leaving them when he had. But then he shook his head and asked Hamish gently, "Can I see?"

Hamish paused and looked at Sherlock, assessing him carefully before showing him the picture as well. "See? It's Mum an' Unc' Greg," he explained quietly. Hamish was a pretty quiet child and seemed to think about everything before saying anything. He seemed to have an automatic reaction - very similar to Sherlock's. There were days that it irritated John to no end. He didn't understand how anyone could be born with the instinct to just know things.

Sherlock looked at John in surprise. "When did he learn how to talk?" he asked, completely taken off guard by this.

John made a face between a grin and a grimace. "Eight months was when he said his first word." With a deep breath, he added, "And his first word was 'what'." His tone was that of someone who was rather unsurprised. _Of course_ their son was a smartass, John agreed silently. For a very long moment, he and Sherlock simply stared at each other. Slowly, Sherlock leaned over and kissed his forehead affectionately. "And so you know, most kids start talking around one years old, and he is two."

"Two," Sherlock scoffed softly and looked at Hamish. "He seems older than that…"

Hamish stared up at him with his big eyes and then slowly smiled. It seemed like an awkward smile, almost a grimace and it almost felt as if he were looking in a mirror as if he were a younger version of himself. "You silly," he said and took his picture back, sitting at the coffee table again. He started on a new drawing after that.

Sherlock blew out a slow breath and John watched with rapt attention. He was worried still. There was still a notion in the back of his head that said that Sherlock could still vanish and what was stopping him from doing so? There was fear all over in his head and he couldn't stop it. After two years, he was still a bit concerned that this was just an elaborate dream or hallucination. But Sherlock was sitting in his sitting room, watching his little Hamish draw with rapt attention. The two looked eerily similar and John realized why he had been holding onto his son so desperately. He was the last bit of Sherlock he'd had and that had made him even more important than just a child. Just a soul. It was Sherlock's baby as well. Not that Hamish wasn't the most precious thing he had ever been able to hold because he was. But there had been an even bigger attachment because of his father. His father that should not be here. His father who had vanished and left him to take care of their son alone.

John really did not think that punch was enough.

They spent three weeks together and Hamish started getting attached. John's fears escalated to a point where Sherlock had to ask. They were laying in bed, staring at the ceiling. The night was quiet. Sherlock rolled over to face John and questioned in that deep voice of his that he had missed so very much, "What are you afraid of?"

A soft sigh escaped John's lips and he smiled sadly. "Don't you know?" At the very confused look on Sherlock's face, he shook his head a bit and rolled over. "I'm afraid this won't last. That you will leave again."

Sherlock ran a hand through John's short hair affectionately. "Of course I won't leave again," he whispered in a slightly distant voice. "I love you. I only disappeared before because I do love you. It was to give you and Hamish a life."

"That's what you say…" John murmured, eyes closing. "And I do believe you. It's just hard and it's always right there. What I saw, flashing over and over behind my eyes. Two years of just Hamish and I…"

"I know," Sherlock answered, licking his lips slightly in a signature motion of concern. He felt overwhelmed and, to his surprise, scared. "Do you not want me here?"

John's hand shot out to grip at Sherlock's shirt. "How can you even ask that? Of course I want you here!" A bout of mild panic hit him square in the chest and his hand tightened instinctively. "Please don't go again."

The fear in Sherlock's chest slowly vanished and melted until he was finally able to breathe again. "I need to prove to you that I love you and that I'm not going anywhere again. Ever. Not without you." He leaned in close and pressed their foreheads together, staring into John's eyes as he tried to convey how much he meant to him in silence. After all, he normally made a mess of things when he tried to use words.

A small smile tugged at John's lips as he loosened his grip on his partner's shirt. "You shouldn't have to prove it… Let's just work together, okay? That's how we need to work, how we need to function. I love you and I don't want to lose you. Let's make the best of this. A second chance, if you will."

Sherlock chuckled softly. "A second chance…" He held John close and listened to the quiet around them. He heard Hamish let out a soft whine in the other bedroom and briefly wondered what he was dreaming about to cause such a sound. He listened to a tree rustling about outside and the crickets singing to each other. And there was a moment where he imagined that the two years had not passed with his absence but with his presence. Then John shifted, his breathing evened out, and he remembered that it really had. He was trying to fix things between them that should never have broken to begin with.

He did not sleep that night.

XX

There were days, after that, that seemed to be worse than either could imagine. And there were days that were absolutely amazing. They fought and they made up and they lectured and they loved. They were parents and they were lovers. It was a very disconcerting balance sometimes. Sherlock did his best to keep up but John had had two years of parenting Hamish and he was more impatient. He never understood what to do when Hamish threw a fit over nothing or why he didn't like the same thing that John had made just the day before. The little things frustrated him more than the big things. Children were different than men and they were not as easy to deduce. In turn, John found himself frustrated because he couldn't help Sherlock understand. These sort of things came with experience instead of reading a book.

Things could be hard but they pushed through each trial carefully. But the one moment that changed the dynamics in their family was brought upon by Hamish. It was early one morning, almost a year later. Sherlock was awake before even Hamish, sitting in the kitchen on his laptop. DI Lestrade had texted with a case and he needed to learn more about the topic before he delved completely into it. He was poring over an article about the laws in London when Hamish padded in and sat in the chair next to him. He leaned over and asked, "What are you reading?"

Sherlock had to do a double-take and then he smiled. "I'm looking for a certain law about circuses in London," he answered, not seeing the point in lying. "Why?"

"I saw the word 'animal' and I wanted to know," Hamish replied with a smile. "I'm hungry. Can you make eggs?"

"Of course I can make eggs," Sherlock snorted and closed his laptop. "Hard-boiled, fried, or scrambled? Devilled maybe?"

Hamish giggled and swung his legs. "Mummy makes really good scrambled eggs." Sherlock's mouth twisted into a frown. "But I want to try a fried egg. I bet you're really good at making those!"

"A lot better than scrambled eggs," Sherlock agreed and smiled softly. "So how well can you read, then? Mum never said you could."

"The teachers have been showing me but I like to practice by myself," Hamish said, turning to watch his father work. "I like big words. They're fun to figure out."

Sherlock nodded as he cracked an egg over the pan he had sitting on the stove. "Are they? I hadn't noticed…"

"What do you like about reading then?" Hamish asked as he folded his arms over the back of the chair.

"What isn't there to like, I suppose?" Sherlock mused to himself. He watched the egg cook carefully. "I love to learn so the subject matter would be my favorite." He carefully moved the egg to a plate and started on another. He wasn't sure how Hamish liked his fried eggs.

Hamish hummed to himself thoughtfully. "That's fun too," he said at last. "Why do you need to learn about the circus? Mum says he hates them."

Sherlock grinned as he flipped the egg. "And I can imagine why. The circus uses animals to amuse people and they're not very nice. There was a law banning wild animals from being in circuses but, since they were losing so much money, a single circus brought them back and have been giving shows underground. Tickets have been sold for over three hundred pounds. That is a steal, literally."

"How do you hide wild animals under London?" Hamish questioned as his plate of eggs was set in front of him. "Elephants are really big and you can't tell me no one notices them! There would be footprints and everything!"

Sherlock paused and looked at his son. "That _is_ a very good question, isn't it? How _did_ those animals get underground in the first place…?" He sat back down at his computer and picked up his phone, texting DI Lestrade about any records of missing animals and odd places they could have been seen.

Hamish poked at the yoke of his first egg and grimaced. "Maybe there's a secret tunnel somewhere that they broke open and started shoving the animals in there. And there's a guard but he doesn't look like a guard so no one thinks about him. They wait for night, too, I bet. It gets really dark here. And they tie the elephant's nose shut so it can't make any noises." He continued on for awhile in between each bite and Sherlock was only half-aware, noting things that could be possibilities and things that were only imagined in his head. He made little sounds here and there, agreeing or disagreeing until they were suddenly having a conversation about how hard it would be to muzzle a lion.

John wandered downstairs at a quarter to eight and the two were still debating as Sherlock helped Hamish into his coat. "But it could be made! If they can make saddles for Dragons-"

"Dragons do not exist," Sherlock told him with a roll of his eyes. "Where would you hear such a thing. Did you remember last night's homework?"

"Sandra told me that she heard a story about Dragons and they made saddles for them," Hamish answered and grabbed his backpack from beside the couch. "I put it away last night because Mum is afraid it'll be sucked into a black hole if I don't."

Sherlock laughed softly and grabbed the lunch bag off the table. "I should hope not," he murmured and handed the bag to his son. He caught a glimpse of John leaning against the hall door-frame and smiled at him. "Good morning."

John waved his hand. "Carry on," he replied simply. "He'll be late if you two don't get out the door in the next minute. And I think you're still losing this debate about saddles and muzzles." He grinned at Hamish. "Have a good day. I'll pick you up after classes."

"He isn't winning something that hasn't been debated upon," Sherlock scoffed and took Hamish's hand. "But he's right. We may have to run. Will you be able to keep up?" Hamish nodded determinedly and opened his mouth to put in a word about the debate but Sherlock shook his head. "School first." As he whisked him out the door he added in a sing-song voice, "Education is most important!" John's laugh made his day.

XX

John realized that he felt like they were a family - and a dysfunctional one as well. He found that he was spending a lot of time listening to Sherlock and Hamish debate over small things and it was always amusing when Sherlock gave up the argument for his son. They moved back to Baker Street, setting up the main floor bedroom for Hamish and the upstairs room for them. It was strange to be back but it was comfortable. Hamish made his room exactly as he wanted it with _Doctor Who_ posters and a half-full bookshelf with chemistry, biology, and animal books. After a few months of getting after him, Hamish even made his bed each day. (Sherlock was no help in enforcing this until John threatened to start withholding cases from him if he didn't start teaching by example.)

Another year passed and another and Hamish was five. The sitting room was full of scattered papers and books and there was even a second chemistry set on the coffee table. The two got along better than John had ever hoped for and he didn't mind sitting in his oversized chair, watching Sherlock teach Hamish something about different combinations of chemicals. For him, this was a normal life. It was happy and it was wonderful. Sherlock went above and beyond every day to make his family happy.

When John got pregnant a second time, he made sure to tell Sherlock right away.

Too bad it didn't stop him from having a mild panic attack in the middle of the Underground station when it was mentioned.

~The End~

**_A/N: Gift story for Keroanne. I can't think of any reason that I wrote this specifically for her except I suggested a Smauglock story and ended up struggling so much, I gave in and wrote this instead. XD Also, I think she'll secretly love it._**

**_This is my second attempt at a Sherlock story and I have no clue if this is fantastic as i think it is. So reviews would be helpful._**

**_Please review and Happy Holidays! :D_**

**_~DMP_**


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